


Persephone's Patisserie

by strawbebbiemcchi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Despite wanting to write a fic about baking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, I (the author) have no idea how to bake, I lack the knowledge, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update, We stan stressed adults in this, do not copy to another site, only on AO3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawbebbiemcchi/pseuds/strawbebbiemcchi
Summary: I blinked owlishly at the trembling gun held to my face, the extremely bad, very incompetent (that poor dear) robber was waving his empty wallet at me. He wanted cash, which was very strange as this Patisserie only took card (minimum transaction of $5.00) to reduce the chances of robberies occurring.Robberies like this one.Obviously, the poor man didn't get the memo.____________I give no permission for my work to be posted or hosted on any other site other than Archive of Our Own (AO3).
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 3





	Persephone's Patisserie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I, a conglomerate heir, say a big fuck you to being a CEO and move half-way across the world to open up a patisserie, despite having no experience in the patisserie department ever

**In which I, a conglomerate heir, say a big fuck you to being a CEO and move half-way across the world to open up a patisserie, despite having no experience in the patisserie department ever**

* * *

Let it be known that I am not good with people, a fact which I lost a $10,000 bet with my best friend. Which wouldn’t bother me entirely, if that was not the main component of the job my parents were grooming me for.

Yes, I am the one and only heir of the well-known conglomerate, the Dai Hengaku Group. 

The Dai Hengaku Group was established by my grandmother in 1955, passed down to my mother in 1999, who will then pass it on to me when I turn 25. Which, if I stared long enough at the calendar on my phone in an attempt to find a way to restructure it into something that was not Gregorian, was in 5 days. The Dai Hengaku Group is passed down through the maternal line, I remembered my grandmother explaining to me as she watched the stock markets crash in 2008, mainly because my grandmother would rather shut the conglomerate down if a man owned it.

_ 'I made this company with my bare hands whilst your lazy granddad took afternoon naps.’_ She would say, her wizened, wrinkled face stretching into a wide grin.

Granddad always let out an exasperated huff before grumbling, _‘As if my crazy wife would let me touch her project.’_

All of this would be very important, if I was in Japan getting prepared and ready to attend the large ceremony of the ‘passing of the torch’. (My younger brother, Matsu, had taken it upon himself to blast the theme of Chariots of Fire every time he saw me). Instead, I was in New York, America. Signing a contract to complete the sale of a building I had just bought. A building that I was going to turn into a patisserie. A patisserie that I was going to own and work in. A patisserie that did not have a fully trained patissier.

Well, my hindsight was not, as one would say, 20/20.

* * *

A vibrating in my pocket alerted me to the fact that my mother had found out I was not on the plane from Germany to Japan. Stretching out the soreness from my neck, I took in a deep breath, before accepting the call, elongating the vowels unnecessary in a deluded hope to appease my mother, “Hi, mum! How’s it going?”

“How’s it going?! How is it going!?” The tinny panicked yells of my mother echoed through my phone’s lacklustre speakers. “You weren’t on the plane and I look at the news, and they say you’re in America!”

“Uhhh… about that. I have a good reason, Mumm-”

“Don’t you Mummy me, problem child. Buying a patisserie? You could’ve just asked if you could have the Eclair et Luna Patisserie that’s in Washington.” The normally smooth and calm voice of my mother started to increase in pitch as she began to ramble. “You didn’t even need to buy it! All of this is going to be yours in one week!”

“Mu-”

“One week until you take over this Company, honey. Then you can have all the bak-”

I cut in before my mother could talk herself into another fever pitch, words rushing out quickly, “IdontwanttobetheCEOofthegroup.”

There was silence for a couple of seconds before I heard a very sad ‘What?’.

I took another deep breath, “I don’t really want to be the CEO of the group yet, mum.” My hands were clenched tightly around my phone, the sleek metal jabbing itself uncomfortably into my skin. “I’m… I’m not ready for that.”

More radio silence.

I had begun to visibly sweat as I paced around the bedroom I had rented out. “Mum?”

And like a beacon in the darkness, the calm voice of my mother called out to me, “5 years.”

I blinked in surprise and confusion, “W-what?” Stopping abruptly in my attempt to wear down the carpet.

“You have 5 years to get ready to take over, we can delay your ascension.” There was a pause, as my mum let out a tired sigh, “Maybe this will teach you some communication skills. Take care, darling. Remember, the most vulnerable part of a human is the meniscus and always go for the eyes and throat. They can’t hurt you if they can’t see, breathe, or move.”

I nodded my head, before stuttering out a quick thanks and goodbye, hanging up the phone quietly. My mother’s words were still ringing in my ears for a couple of minutes, before they truly started to resonate with me. I bit down on an excited squeal, as the adrenaline finally started to kick in.

I had 5 years to convince my parents that I, their only daughter, was not a good choice to be a CEO.


End file.
